Sex and Waffles
by ultrafreakyfangirl
Summary: There's sex and there's waffles. Except, it's probably not what you're thinking, you filthy animals. There's fluff too.


**_Author's Note: Well, I'm back a lot sooner than I'd thought I'd be. With another one-shot, comin at ya. Sex and Waffles. Yeah, I don't really have much else to say about that. There's sex, and there's waffles. Except, given these two's history with kinks, it's not what you're thinking. Also, is it just me or whenever I go to write something fluffy for these two, my brain is like 'oh no, sorry. Does not compute. Would you like a side of smut with that?' Something about them - and sex - idk it's kind of hot. Or I'm just weird. Cool too. _**

* * *

_Pancakes. French toast. Waffles. Eggs. None of the above. Cereal? No, there were too many options. He wouldn't go there. Bagels? Again, options._ Maybe she didn't even eat at all. He would bet money that she just fed on the souls of decent human beings for breakfast. With black coffee. Or tar. It could just be a nice, hot, piping cup of tar.

One look to his right though, to the side of the bed that he hadn't slept on from force of habit for a month now, he couldn't fathom this girl hurting a soul, let alone eating one. She looked so innocent and sweet, the white linen sheets cocooning her in purity; her hair was dishevelled across the expanse of her freckled shoulders, bangs caressing her cheekbone.

The smell of her hairspray was sticky, the remnants of her lilac perfume less so, and he hadn't pictured her as a flowery girl, but now it stuck with him, and made him smile. He couldn't bare to wake her, to see that beautiful face, that _peaceful _expression, turn, not right now. He wanted to enjoy this a little longer. Joe looked at the clock. Eight fifteen. Breakfast could wait.

As if she was reading his mind in sleep, she reached her hand over and hit his arm. Before she even opened her eyes she spoke, well more of a mumble accented with the roughness of sleep.

Right then, he concluded that only _she _could make the word_ waffles_ sexy. And _demanding_. As par for the course, that was. "Waffles. Now."

She blinked, once, twice, slow and soft, her top eyelashes flaking specks of mascara, which were getting caught amongst her bottom ones, and it became an exercise in resistance to take his hand and gently brush the black bits away with his finger and thumb.

"Seriously. We have to get to work for nine. Let's go, chop-chop."

It didn't seem like she was aware of his inner dilemma regarding her eyelashes, but if she was, she wouldn't let it show, because that would be far too intimate for this early in the morning. But, maybe weekends wouldn't count. They had the whole day, low and slow, and it seemed like maybe Natalie was forgetting that. Or likely choosing to.

"It's Saturday, Nat," he said, deciding to remind her.

He pushed himself up onto his haunches over her and leaned down slightly to kiss her mouth, careful not to squish her as she, for some reason that he was not about to contest, didn't let him go, keeping his mouth tethered to hers and reaching her hand up to hold the side of his face in a song and dance they knew well by now. _You are __**so**__ my girlfriend._

"Mhm," was all she offered up as a response, her teeth biting into the flesh of his lip. "Doesn't change the fact that I'm _starving_."

"Oh yeah? _Starving hey?"_

"Mhm," she said again, catching onto the seduction thinly veiled within his words as she squirmed out from under him to allow for him to take her hips in his hands and switch their positions. "Absolutely _ravenous."_

She laughed when he leaned forward and she down and their foreheads touched a little more harshly than either anticipated, but they took in in stride. With a hum, she brushed their noses together, her lips hovering over his just out of reach, teasingly. She was _teasing _him.

He smirked and pulled on her hair, desperate to be kissing her again. And she let him this time, without a fight, just sunk into him, his mouth, his body, like there was nowhere else she would rather be.

"You know, it's been a long time since I've been kissed like this. Like someone really meant it."

Joe breathed out a sigh as he looked at her. Up at her. Usually, she would busy herself with yanking down the hem of her blouse or untangling the knots he'd made in her curls, or hiking one stilettoed foot through her pencil skirt; she would brush it off, that moment where she once let her guard down, hide it in the stupid, meaningless actions like these that would draw attention to the copulative nature of their relationship.

But not this time. Not the time before that, either. Her vulnerable moments with him have become less and less of a rarity, but he tried his best not to take them for granted. So, in sport of that, he reached forward and touched her cheek in acknowledgement - _I'm here, talk to me, let me listen, _and she responded to his touch, putting her hand on top of his and blinking down at him.

"For the last few months when I was unwitting of my husband's gayness, I knew something was off. There was no passion there, no love, not like there used to be. And I wanted it all back, so bad, but I told myself that I would settle for one, if not the other, and that's where you came in, Joey-boy. The utter disdain I felt for you fueled the passion."

She grinned at him, openly and somewhat bashful, softly hitting his chest.

"I hated you. So much. Like, _fuck,_ the forever dopey look on your face that reminded me of Juan Pablo from _The Bachelor_, and whatever stupid shit that came out of your mouth ninety-nine percent of the time made me want to kill you. Or on the days where you were tolerable, I only wanted to punch you in the dick, _hard._"

He smiled. "I had no idea how you truly felt about me until this moment. Really. So, thank you."

She hit his chest again. "Fuck you with the pity-party bullshit. That's not how I feel about you now."

"Oh yeah?" He raised an eyebrow, baiting her. "How's that? How do you feel about me _now_, Natalie?"

She rolled her eyes, but still, she was smiling. "Okay, remember when I said that I'm not going to be that kind of girlfriend who puts your happiness over her career?"

"Vaguely." He kept baiting.

"Well, that still stands. And I'm also not that kind of girlfriend who falls all over the guy, who says _I love you_ when she first wakes up and before she falls asleep, okay? You aren't my orbit, Joe Caputo. Got that?"

He raised his hands in surrender. "Sure, _geez._ That was a little harsh."

Her expression visibly softened. It never used to, at least, not visibly, and sometimes, the flicker of emotion took his breath for a minute, before returning it to him the second she rolled her eyes and that sourpuss returned. This time though, her softness stayed, warm like fleece as it cast across her face.

"Look, _obviously_ I love you. I didn't say that I didn't. Jesus, you can be a real pussy sometimes."

She smirked at him, taking him off guard and grasping him through his boxers. "Honestly, sometimes I find it hard to believe you deserve that package you've been wholly blessed with, Beer Can."

His mouth made a string of garbled noises in response to her hand as she squeezed his balls, once, twice, _three fucking times_. She scoffed. "You're too soft. It would take a whole lot more than a bit of hand stuff to make me beg for it."

He laughed. "I wasn't begging for it. That wasn't even coherent speech that was - "

He groaned again when she scratched her nails across them this time, and okay, maybe he was grovelling a little bit, but he suddenly felt high with feeling and so his breathy '_Nat – fucking_ **_fuck_**' may very well have been a result of sexual delirium.

He blinked rapidly, trying to stop the blackness from encroaching on his vision. He was going to come if she kept this shit up. Fine, she won. He was spineless. But that also made him a _man_. He pushed her off of him and she lost her balance, falling unceremoniously to the mattress. It wasn't his favorite way to see her, but it would do.

She was _blushing_, squirming and blushing, and she knew what was coming. Her blood was pulsating and hot, and she was biting her lip to keep from smiling. She wanted this. _Oh yeah, she wanted this bad._

"Now let's see how you'll do," he spoke gravely into her ear.

He made sure she could see his hand, made sure she was watching it as he trailed it tauntingly across the lithe skin of her stomach, made sure she was watching as it disappeared under her little cashmere nightie, as it pressed itself against her, as it never got close enough to where she needed it most, watching as his hand dissolved her into someone who pleads, _someone who pleads and begs for more. _

"Okay, _okay,_ you've made your point. Just let me come._ Just let me come, god, __**please**__,_ _Joe._"

He wanted to. If he was being honest, he was close again himself and she hadn't even been touching him. Wow. That's different. A side-effect of_ love_ probably. Why did he have to love her? It was really setting him back. He only had so many opportunities to do this, he had to make it count. She had it made. It was practically limitless for women. So, he'd make her wait.

"Not yet, sweetheart," he hissed in her ear. "Be patient."

He could feel her toes wriggling against his leg and fought the urge to laugh out loud. What was she right now, a teenage girl masturbating in her bedroom? Jesus.

"Ugh, you're a huge dick."

"Yeah, you're right, Nat. I do have a huge dick. As you've pointed out several times before."

"No, Beer Can. I mean you_ are_ a huge dick. And I'm never letting you hear that again unless you put that _huge dick_ inside of me _right fucking now."_

For once during this whole escapade, he listened to her, removing his boxers as quickly as he could in his haste without falling on top of her and she watched, her eyes wide. "Oh _shit,_ are you actually going to – "

She couldn't finish her sentence. All that emitted from her mouth was a scream that was borderline on crying and he wondered if he fucked up, if she was too sensitive at that point for him to pummel her like that.

She sucked in a breath when it was over, when her euphoria seemed to slowly be leaving her limbs. He leaned down and discreetly checked her pulse. But apparently not discreetly enough.

"What? You think I can't handle this? Jesus Joe, you've done _far worse,_ if you want to talk about it in that sense. I've had bruises that were black and the size of fucking Africa on my groin and thighs because of how hard you fucked me against the desk in my office. At least the mattress is something soft. I should be _thanking you_."

"Why are you even talking right now?" Joe felt his forearms weaken against the force he was using to thrust in and out of her. He grunted. "Shouldn't you be coming?"

"You just saw it," she gasped, but then went quiet again as she shut her eyes tight and gripped his arms.

"Spoke too soon, didn't you?" he chuckled, and she held her lips tightly together, letting out the occasional _'mmm..'_ that she couldn't hold back.

"I love you," she rasped, reaching her hand up to cradle his head so she could pull him down to better kiss him.

This time, he was the one who sunk into it, let himself go, fully and completely to this girl, this _woman_, as their tongues clashed and joined together in an embrace. He hadn't realized it, but he had at some point completely stopped moving inside of her, and she must have let it go for a minute, but that was all.

She slapped the back of his head, where the small amount of hair he still had resided, other than in his ears. He decided that he would rather die before getting a toupee. He liked to call what he was doing _'aging gracefully'_ and Natalie just scoffed at that – '_I'd say that's a bit of a stretch.' _

Right now, though, she was scoffing at something else.

"You had to stop fucking me to kiss me? Are you serious?"

He laughed against her mouth as he kissed her once more. "Sorry babe."

He started up again, slowly at first, but then she was nearly there, so there he was, pumping in and out of her like his god damn life depended on it, and there she was, clawing, scraping, scratching desperately at his back, until it stopped. A minute passed, and all that he was aware of was the quaking of her thighs and the tremors of his dick, both leftover, as they panted next to each other on the bed.

She looked over at him, though her expression wasn't giving much away. "Okay, _now_ you can go make those waffles."

He stared back at her, bemused. "Are you kidding me?"

She shrugged in response. "What? I worked up an appetite. And in case you forgot, I did mention that I was hungry before, so now it's doubled and that's on you."

"Okay, okay, I'll make you your waffles. On one condition."

She tilted her head to the side, almost mockingly. Natalie Figueroa did everything with a sardonic undertone. It was just who she was. He hated it as much as he loved it. As it went with most things about her.

"Hm. Fine. What's that?"

"Say it again. Tell me you love me. I want to hear it. And before you say you said it already, an intercourse _I love you _does not count."

She raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him. "Did you just say intercourse? Jesus, Joe, that's gross. Don't say that. Ever again. And my verbal affection towards you for the day has exceeded its limits. Come back tomorrow."

He sighed. "Seriously? Fine. Whatever. So, do you want whip cream on those waffles, or syrup?"

"Whip cream. No. Syrup. No. Both. Both please."

Joe rolled his eyes. "You're a child. A child with Type 1 diabetes."

He slowly got up from off of the bed, slipping into his housecoat and slippers. Natalie called them his _old geezer shoes_. The floor was cold, and his feet were a little sensitive, and so he wore slippers. Sue him. He grunted in mild pain as he padded over to the door. This wasn't boding well for his case of _aging gracefully._ He could hear her giggling from behind him.

"You're so old," she said, drawing out the _'o'_ in _so _like a god damn child.

"Oh yeah?" He turned around to face her, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth and winning the battle. "And what does that make you, sweetheart?"

"Younger than you, dipshit," she rebuffed, "at least I don't make noises when I stand up."

As if to prove her point, she stood up from the bed, stretching one arm over her head and then the other. Fucking show off. But wait, there it was – a grimace, he saw it, clear as day, marking up the smoothed features of her face. He chose not to say anything. To be an adult about it.

Instead, he just smiled and left the room, intent on going to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee and the waffle iron. Except he didn't get too far. He was only a few steps from the doorway when she called him back.

"Hey, Joe?"

Joe stuck his head back in the doorframe. He absently rapped his knuckles against it. Which he knew drove her up the fucking wall. "Yeah?"

"I know you saw me grimace."

She grinned at him. Natalie Figueroa_ grinning_ at _anybody, _let alone him, was a rare sight. A coveted one. Personally, he thought she was most beautiful when she smiled like that.

"I love you."

He grinned back at her. "I love you, too."

She gestured to his hand against the doorframe, her smile slipping back into her neutral expression. "But if you keep that shit up, I might just take it back."

"Noted," he said, going over to her.

He took her face in his hands and was surprised to feel her reaching for him, too as they met in the middle. He nearly pushed her back onto the bed with the force of it, and she broke away first.

"First you stop fucking me to kiss me, and now kissing is delaying my breakfast? Ugh, this _kissing business_ we have going on has _got to stop_."

He chuckled. "You sound like my mom."

"Gross," she said, bringing him to her by the nape of his neck, and kissing him again, shorter this time. "One for the road."

"Hey, I wasn't ready to stop." He sounded like a petulant child. "Who said we had to stop?"

"The waffle gods," she replied, pushing her hand against his chest. "Seriously, go. I need food and we have work in fifteen minutes. Because it's Friday, you dumbass. We were pushing it today."

"That's not the only thing we were pushing." He snickered; he couldn't help himself.

Natalie rolled her eyes. "You are a sick bastard, Joe Caputo. Just so you know."

Joe nodded. He'd take it. "And you're a sick bitch, Natalie Figueroa. So, I'd say we're even."

All she did was smile at him. He smiled back.

* * *

**Author's Note: Okay, so now it's your turn! Review, review! I appreciate them so much! :) I hope to have a lot more in store for these two, thank you season 6 and 7.**


End file.
